Billy and Joel were back at it.  I wanted to ram their stupid heads together until their skulls cracked and show them that demons were actually something to be terrified of, but…I didn’t.  They were humans, they didn’t even know supernatural creatures existed.  To them, I was just the weird loner kid who’d transferred in last year and was hostile to everyone.  They had no idea they were actually antagonizing a fucking demon and that they were only alive by my graciousness.

No, I told myself bitterly.  Not that.  It’s so easy to fall back into the trap of thinking I was worth something, of feeling powerful.  I might be powerful, but that was the problem.  These humans, bullies though they were, were better than me.  They deserved to live.  I didn’t.

Sometimes I wished they’d just leave me alone, but mostly I just tuned them out when they said their shit.  It was a little harder to completely ignore them when they turned it physical, but I never retaliated.  I wouldn’t even defend myself other than the instinctive motion to cover my head with my arms.  The nurse had asked me in a disapproving tone, whether I’d started the fight when I’d shown up with the first set of injuries almost a year ago.  That had reminded me – to everyone else, I looked like a tough, muscular, dangerous guy who definitely knew how to take care of himself in a fight.  The tattoos up one arm and the constantly angry look on my face seemed to confirm to them that if I was involved in a fight, I probably started it.

So I never bothered to explain.  They wouldn’t believe me, and anyway, it felt like I deserved every one of those kicks and punches anyway.

Today they got bored a little earlier than normal, so when they finally left me alone in the back of the gym, I slowly sat up, wiped the blood off my face, and leaned against the wall.

Demons didn’t die easily.  That’s good, really.  Also good for the humans – if they’d done some of this to a human, they’d possibly have killed their target.  I was pretty sure they’d broken a rib this time and it probably had punctured my lung, based on the fun feelings I was getting with every breath.

Great.  No running for a while.  I liked to go running, it was one of the few ways I could really work out my anger without risking hurting anyone.  Run fast, run hard, run long.  But punctured lungs don’t particularly enjoy that kind of strenuous activity, so I’d be stuck growling at my desk or something instead.  Lovely.

I could hear the distant sounds of a group of students starting to prepare for the next gym class, so I forced myself to my feet and made my way to the nurse’s office using the least-used hallways.  I told myself I didn’t really care much what people thought if they saw me, but the questions and whispers and new rumors were actually kind of annoying, so I tried to minimize the chance of that happening.

The school nurse was not pleased to see me again.

“Judah,” he said, his arms crossed.  “Who’d you fight this time?”

I didn’t answer, just made my way to the drawers which held what I needed to clean myself up.  I’d learned he didn’t like to help, which was fine with me.  I could do it myself.

He grumbled but did come over, very unwillingly, to help with some of the injuries it was harder to get myself, like my face.

Sometimes I wondered if he ever noticed that I never had injuries which indicated I was actually participating in the fight.  No broken skin on my knuckles, for instance.  Maybe he just assumed I kicked people instead.  Did he ever wonder why none of my supposed victims came into the office, though?  If I’d fought back, surely some of them would have been injured at some point.  At least, you’d think so.

I was working on wiping my arm when I realized he’d pulled out a stethoscope to listen.  My breathing must have sounded pretty bad if he was actually bothering to even try to treat me.

He frowned.  “I think you need to go to the hospital.”

I shook my head.  “Nope, I’ll be fine.”  The weird rumble in my voice with every breath – from liquid in my lung – probably didn’t reassure him.

“Even demons need medical help on occasion,” he lectured me.

That made me pause.  I didn’t realize he knew what I was.  I actually didn’t even know he was supernatural himself.  My eyes narrowed, and I studied him more closely.  If he was human, but he knew about demons…he was probably a Hunter.

He caught my look.  “I’m not what you’re thinking.  I’m actually a low-level witch, not human.  Light magic, which is sometimes helpful in the medical field.”

Men weren’t often witches, but that would explain why his magical power was low enough that I didn’t pick up on it.  He was barely non-human.

That question satisfied, I went back to my normal moody self.  “Still not going.  Thanks for the stuff, though.”  Since I’d finished wiping off the blood and tying bandages around anything that might keep bleeding, I pushed myself off the bed and headed out the door, dumping the used stuff in the trashcan as I went.

“Judah,” he called after me, “you really should – ”

The door shut behind me, cutting off his words.

I didn’t care.  I didn’t care about getting medical help even if supposedly I needed it.  It didn’t matter anyway.  It wasn’t like I’d die from it, and maybe the pain would somehow help in the meantime.  I deserved the pain.  I deserved worse.

I felt eyes on me when I flopped into my seat for the next class.  Bad choice – that hurt.  Note to self, sit more carefully next time.

But the other students weren’t stealing looks because of that.  My clothes were rumpled and there was a tear in my sleeve, and even though I’d wiped off the blood, there were still drops on my clothes, a few bandages were visible, and bruises were starting to show on my face.

I could feel the disapproval from my teacher and the fear from the students.  Sweet.  More people to hate me here.  I was surprised the entire student body didn’t already.

I completely didn’t think about my appearance when I went to work after surviving several more hours of stares.  By that time, the bruising was more evident and an angry-looking teen who looks like he just got out of a fight is not what most café customers care to see when they come to a register.  I could wear an apron to cover most of my shirt, but come to think of it, they’d probably wouldn’t care much for the state of my shirt, either.

Bother.  I couldn’t just beg off, though – I was too worried about getting fired as it was.  Unexpected absences would be yet another easy way to get rid of me.

The assistant manager took one look at me and shook his head.  “We’re switching,” he told me.  “But go change shirts – there should be a clean one in storage around your size, we had a bunch left over from that charity event.”

I was surprised he was willing to switch, but grateful.  I was supposed to be on registers today, the last place anyone who looked like I did should probably work, while the assistant manager was intended to be in the kitchen, away from customers’ eyes.  The thing was, I knew he didn’t like working the register and deliberately worked his schedule to try to avoid it.  I must look really bad if he was more worried about customers seeing me than about working the register himself.  I wondered why he didn’t just send me home instead.

I found the leftover shirts in the storage room and managed to find one my size, my body stiff as I worked to take off my dirty shirt and switch to the silly looking – but clean – shirt instead.  That accomplished, I stuffed my own shirt in a locker and went into the kitchen, realizing belatedly that I probably should have told the assistant manager thanks.

My coworker paused when he saw me.  “You look – rough.  Had a bad day?”

I grunted.  “Nope, it was awesome.”

“Right.”  He gave me a strange look.  “You sure you don’t need to sit down or something?  You don’t sound good.”

Supernaturals would pick up on the breathing issues I was having more easily than humans, but it annoyed me that they kept asking.

“I’m fine,” I repeated.

The kitchen door opened and the assistant manager came in, his worried eyes fixed on me.  “Judah, I should have offered – if you need to go home or go to the hospital, I can take care of it for you.”  His eyes lingered on the bruises on my face, then on one of the bandages visible on my arm.  “Or if you’re not comfortable with a hospital, there are other options.”

I’d been about to tell him I was fine, don’t worry about it, but the last part confused me.  “What – other options?”

“His husband’s dad’s clinic,” my coworker volunteered, starting to roll out some pastry on the counter.  “Fairy.  He’s a good doctor, from what I understand.  Deals mostly with nymphs and dryads but they treat others, too.”

I’d known the assistant manager was a protected human, but I wasn’t aware that he was married to a supernatural – or knew what I was.  This day was getting weirder.

Before I could answer and turn him down, the assistant manager continued.  “Or I can just ask Ren to heal you, as long as stuff isn’t broken.  They have to be careful not to heal when stuff is in the wrong place or it’ll make it worse.”

“Then I guess that’s out,” I grumbled.

His eyes dropped for a second, staring at my hands and then at my chest like he could figure out what was broken if he looked long enough.  “Ribs?”  He finally asked.

My coworker’s head snapped up.  “Is that why you’re breathing weird – did a rib puncture your lung?”

I groaned.  What was up with these two?  Why couldn’t they just leave me alone?

“Uggh, that hurts.”  The assistant manager – I still couldn’t remember his name, I hadn’t been here long enough for most of their names to stick yet – made a grimace, but a sympathetic one, almost like he understood.

“Please don’t tell me you’ve had that,” the coworker frowned at him.  “I mean, I know you said you’ve had issues with supernaturals in the past, but that’s potentially fatal to humans – oh.  Right.”

The assistant manager shrugged.  “Most injuries, I’ve probably had at some point.”  He smiled faintly at him, then turned to me.  “I don’t know enough about demons to know if you heal on your own?”

I gave in.  It didn’t look like they were going to drop it.  “Eventually.  So don’t worry about it.”

They were both older than me, probably early to mid-20s, but the discovery that the assistant manager had been, what, bullied?  At some point was kind of a revelation.  I mean, he was human.  It was a lot bigger of a deal if he got broken bones and punctured lungs than if I did.  I wondered how long ago that had happened.  I assumed before he met his husband or whoever and got protected.

And then I remembered that it wasn’t good to open up to people or risk getting them involved with me.

“I’ll be fine,” I grunted.  “Sorry about looking bad, though.  Um, thanks for letting me switch.”

The assistant manager observed me thoughtfully.  “I used to hide all my injures when I worked,” he said at last.  “I’d make excuses to Molly about why I had the bruises.  She’s pretty understanding, even if she suspected I wasn’t telling the truth.  I know from experience it’s not best if you work with customers looking like that, so I’ll see about getting your schedule adjusted to make sure you’re back here for the next couple of weeks.  You’ll be healed by then?”

I was surprised, but grateful, for his help.  I just also wished he wouldn’t get involved.  He might be protected, but he was still human.  I could even manage to get demons killed, so…best if he didn’t try to be too nice.

It wasn’t like I deserved it.

“Yeah, two weeks is fine.”  Then quieter, because I didn’t entirely want to say it, “thanks.”

He went back out to the front, probably to actually get back to work instead of looking after me, and for a little while my coworker let me work in silence.

But not forever, of course.  Eventually he had to keep prying – or, to my surprise, not prying, but explaining.  “Riven knew about our world before he was protected.  Most supernaturals he encountered, if they realized he knew, apparently assumed he was a Hunter and didn’t respond well.”  Like I almost had with the school nurse.  “I don’t know the full details – he doesn’t really like to talk about it much – but he at least understands some of what you’re feeling and can sympathize with still wanting to work anyway.  It’s okay to let him help you.”

I carefully poured my batter into muffin tins.  “I don’t need help, I’ll be fine.”

He gave me a reproving look.  “He can at least help you work back here so you can still work instead of freaking the customers out.  It’s okay to accept help, you know.  You’re still a kid, it’s okay to rely on adults.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes.  “You’re only a few years older than me and age isn’t always the important factor for demons.  If you’re powerful enough, you’re a leader, and I – ”

I stopped abruptly.  I’d been a leader in my old pandemonium, that was why they listened when I hadn’t walked away.  When I had decided to fight.

“Point is,” I tried to salvage the sentence before he asked any follow-up questions, “I know what I’m doing.”

“It’s not weakness to accept help.  Besides, if the fairies were able to heal your bruises and maybe even your lung, wouldn’t that make life easier?”

Yeah, sure, whatever.  “Life’s not about being easy.”

He crossed his arms, looking almost pissed off at me.  “But it’s not necessary to make yourself suffer, either.  Is there a reason you need to heal normally, or are you really just so proud you can’t accept help even if it saves you some pain?”

I couldn’t exactly answer that.  Proud, yes – I knew that.  That was the problem.  I got someone killed because of that.  And I deserved the pain as a result.  My injuries from back then had healed, but these new ones were fresh reminders of my guilt.  Of what I deserved.

“Doesn’t matter,” I finally responded, my tone dark and angry.

I think he finally got it that I didn’t want to continue this conversation, but he seemed exasperated about it.  Still, he didn’t say anything else the entire shift.